


Seventh Avenue

by shandril



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2019 Era (Phandom), AU, Angst, Dan Howell and Phil Lester Are Not YouTubers, Director!phil, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, New York City, Original Character(s), Phan - Freeform, Phandom - Freeform, Producer!Phil, References to Depression, Strangers to Lovers, author!dan, danhowell, mlm, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shandril/pseuds/shandril
Summary: In an attempt to stay a relevant best selling author, Dan scrambles to find his next big project without letting the world know he is at a dead end.Phil is a successful movie producer and director trying to find his new Hollywood hit.A coincidental run in with each other may have been exactly what they needed.
Relationships: Dan Howell & Phil Lester, Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

"You are a good for nothing little bitch."

Dan speaks it into existence. He is a good for nothing little bitch. What good is a writer that won't write? How entitled do you have to be to call yourself a writer when the actual writers are working ten times as hard? You can spend all day throwing insults at yourself but you can't write a paragraph? 

Dan shuts his black laptop closed and puts his fingers to his temples. If he sees one more white background with black words in Times New Roman emitting from a screen, he might go mad. At least going mad would be a good story, though. He needs a good story. 

He needs a great one, actually. Dan is, let's say, an impulsive person. He's an awkward and impulsive person that is horrible at confrontation, which is why when presented with the question, "What do you have next for us, Daniel?" he replied with, "Something big. It's a project in the works." 

Why did he say that? If you ask Dan, he'd say it's because he's a good for nothing little bitch. He didn't know what he had next. All he knows is he is unmotivated. He has become unmotivated in the thing he loves most and that devastates him. Devastation? There's a story there. Dan brainstorms. What's the story? Maybe star crossed lovers! He shakes his head, his fingers still attached. No, too overdone.

His brain was a mess.

As much as he wishes he could sit on his bed underneath the monochrome patterned comforter, he has an interview in three hours. He quickly uncovers his lower half and slips out of bed, heading to the shower to begin getting ready. 

Interviews with authors are not any writer's favorite thing to do, even if it came with great publicity. Dan, like a lot of authors, likes the readers to interpret their books in their own ways. He likes when the audience theorizes who's secretly into each other, or who deserves a better storyline. Interviews make him feel like he's ruining their community. 

When Dan is looking clean and professional enough to his own standards, he heads for the door with a "get it over with" attitude. It probably isn't the best headspace to be in, but he can't remember the last time he was in any other mood. He walks down the endless flight of stairs to the outside of his apartment building and walks into the dirty, damp world of New York. Small puddles of water and strangers holding umbrellas populate the sidewalks. Dan makes his way across the crowded street and into a descending staircase which leads to an even dirtier but much less damp subway station. The train to the city arrives in less than three minutes, so he waits by himself and makes sure to look like he doesn't want to be bothered. In reality, he looks stiff and scared of conversation. 

The train comes quicker than Dan expected, making him feel a surge of anxiety and his feet quickly start walking through the doors before his mind grants consent. He enters the crowded sitting area and quickly chooses between either sitting or standing. Taking one brief look, he makes his decision and finds a pole to hold onto in order to avoid falling on his face. His feet are planted to the floor of the train and slightly separated to keep balance. The ground rumbles and the car turns, challenging his New York subway-standing skills. Looking around a subway station or a train is like a minefield for authors. Everyone in this cramped space with Dan has a story of their own. They have their own destination and problems to deal with today. Maybe one of them is just like him, maybe one of them is his soulmate, there's an endless amount of possibilities. Dan just really hopes his soulmate isn't the man standing near the doors with a purple mohawk and shaved sides. Although, that'd be a good story. 

A man's voice that sounds like he is speaking complete gibberish is heard from the speakers, and Dan's well enough accustomed to coming and going from the city to know he's at his stop. He walks through the metro and up yet another set of stairs to reach the outside world again. Tall buildings stretch into the gloomy sky and the cold breeze makes up for the humid rainy atmosphere. There's more life to these streets than outside his Brooklyn apartment. Tourists and locals alike have destinations to go to in the city. They have times to be there and miles to walk. They have a story. Dan does not. 

As he walks to the address where his interview will take place, he feels his curly brown hair start to expand and frizz from the rain. You're already ugly, you can't afford to look any worse. He wants to stop and look, he wants to calm his mind, but you can't do that while walking with a crowd. Even if you could, his anxious mind wouldn't let him. Dan continues to walk and deal with his monstrosity of hair until he sees the large black building with shaded windows on multiple floors. The numbers over the revolving doors read 4043, exactly where Dan needs to be. He fixes his nicely fit gray knit sweater and makes sure his black jeans are comfortably held up by his belt. Then, he enters the building.

Upon his entrance Dan is greeted by a slight Brooklyn accent that he's learned to pick up, owned by a non-intimidating brunette man in a gray Blazer and matching slacks. He's got bright blue eyes and a welcoming smile. "Daniel Howell," he reaches his hand out. "I'm Dennis Glass for the New York Times. It's very lovely to meet'cha, let's get going." He speaks fast and confidently, just like most good interviewers; a fact that brings a wave of reassurance over Dan. 

Dennis leads the two down an invitingly lit hallway into a room with couches and a coffee table. It was a laid back atmosphere, which is what Dan preferred. He has a seat on the couch and Dennis sits opposite to him in a chair, with a recorder in hand. A stranger that Dan only dares looking at is sat with a computer, ready to type. The interview begins quickly. 

Dan gets through the interview with his head held high and answers that seemed confident enough to at least fool a stranger. The sound of keyboard clicks and a ticking clock quickly fades as he gets invested into sharing his thoughts with a man he's never seen before today. Soon enough it's over, and Dan feels like it wasn't so bad. He makes his own way out with a farewell to the two men and meets the hallway again. Looking down at his phone to check the time without stopping, he feels his body roughly come in contact with someone else, making his eyes shoot up in an attempt to start apologizing. 

"Sorry, didn't mean to ruffle your blazer like that," he says light heartedly. The stranger smiles, showing off his bright expression and two front crooked teeth that added character to his face. His glossy eyes reminded Dan of a New York morning sky. 

"Don't worry, I've bumped into so many people today already I'm starting to think my feet were built wrong," the man chuckles. His northern British accent takes Dan aback. He chuckles. 

"Rough day?" Dan decides to continue the conversation, not quite knowing why. 

The raven haired guy with a quiff that looks soft enough to make Dan want to touch looks as if he wasn't expecting anything else to be said, but invites the conversation anyway. "When isn't it?" he answers, still smiling. 

Dan extends his arm for a handshake. "I'm Daniel Howell." He feels embarrassed saying his full name, because this isn't a professional conversation. When was the last time I had a casual conversation with a stranger?

"Daniel Howell? You didn't happen to write the The Burning Paradise books?" He looks surprised and happy, Dan can tell he might have read them. 

"That was me, yeah," Dan tries to say casually and friendly. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, seriously. You have a lot of talent," the stranger says in a polite tone. For some reason, that compliment makes Dan genuinely happy. It's a curious feeling that he hasn't felt in a while. 

His curiosity grows. "I didn't catch your name," 

"I'm Phil," he confesses. Phil had a happy and creative tone about him that Dan connected with, even if it had only been five minutes. Phil is a name he could remember. Phil. 

"It's wonderful to meet you, I hope to bump into you again," Dan says teasingly. It makes Phil laugh, and Dan liked his laugh. They walk their separate paths, now with only the memory of a really great stranger.

Walking out of the building and back into the buzzing streets, Dan thinks about his encounter. He thinks about Phil and what his story could be. He wonders why he was in that building and wonders if the conversation could have gone longer. Actually, he feels a lingering regret that it didn't go longer. There's a story. Maybe even a great one. Dan didn't have it, though.


	2. Chapter 2

When in the right place and the right time, the flap of a butterfly’s wings is able to cause a tornado. Cleverly named, the occurrence of a small action causing a giant effect is called the butterfly effect. It can happen anywhere, any time, making it impossible to ever accurately predict the future. 

Dan thought about this strange phenomenon as he walked down his usual sidewalk, laptop bag swung around his shoulder. He needed a change of scenery. He needed human life around him. He needed inspiration for a story. He needed the city. 

The metro greeted Dan down the road. They were old friends, as Dan loved going into the city. Seventh Avenue was a familiar and homely place, despite it probably being infested with rats and full of homeless people. He ascended down the wide concrete staircase into the dim light of underground New York. The sound of passing subway cars and loud footsteps from women in heels filled his ears. It was a routine for Dan; swiping his card, getting through the gate, and waiting for the train. Nothing special ever happens in a subway station. 

As much as he wishes his subway routine was perfect, he was always testing fate with the train to the city, as it usually arrived within a minute of Dan swiping his metrocard. The breaks of the car slowly came to a stop for passengers to exit and enter. As Dan boarded, he spotted a bench with three open seats and quickly claimed one in the middle. He carefully moved his bag to his lap and set his vision on it, because even though he's pushing thirty, he still can't bear to accidentally make eye contact with someone. Mere moments passed before he felt the presence of another person sit beside him.

"What a coincidence," the presence says in that distinct northern accent he heard yesterday. 

Dan darts his head up to see the familiar face, his body shaking just barely enough to shift his bag. It was exactly what he wanted, being awkward in a public space where he can't run away until the doors open. "You," he manages to choke out. 

"Me," the guy with the seemingly simple and unforgettable name says with a friendly smile.  _ Phil. That's it. _

Dan touches his index finger to his chin and then waves it at Phil. "Are you following me?" He says it half jokingly, half seriously. 

Phil catches on to the joke. "Yes. I have a book I hoped you could sign for me," he speaks in the same tone as Dan, who is really hoping he's not serious. "I live in Brooklyn. This is my usual metro," he says with a soft chuckle. Dan tries not to show his relief too much and laughs with him. 

Usually, sitting and talking with strangers ends with Dan running in the opposite direction. He couldn't tell if it was the fact he has no place to hide, but he feels like he could get through the ride with Phil. He isn't bad. Feeling bold and not wanting awkwardness to settle in, Dan starts a conversation. "What do you do?" 

Phil was looking straight ahead, letting Dan know he was a much braver person than himself. He turns his head back to answer. "I'm a producer, or a director, usually both. Depends on the movie." 

Dan feels the train turn and secures his bag in his lap while his feet try to keep grip on the floor. Phil's answer took him aback. For a man wearing a shirt that says "vibes" and has the goofiest looking attitude, he manages to carry himself like he's a big deal. 

Naturally, Dan asks him to name what he's worked on. Less naturally, Phil goes on to name big blockbusters. Even though Dan knows he doesn't mean to brag, it's still one of the most intimidating conversations he's ever had. He listens to Phil and the back of his mind is telling him he might miss his stop, but he can't bring himself to zone out. 

"What's your name?" Dan blurts out, not being very specific as to what he's really asking. 

"You know my name," Phil says back to him in a sarcastic tone. 

"Your full name," Dan clarifies. 

Phil does a half smile and sits up straight to meet Dan's espresso brown eyes, which are lit up from curiosity. "Philip Lester," he admits. It was a formal and professional name, definitely one you'd see in the credits of a movie.  _ Directed and produced by Philip Lester. _ It has a ring to it. 

"Why haven't I heard of you?" Dan thinks back on that. He searches his mind for any reason to think Phil's name sounds familiar, but it just doesn't. The subway stops and he hears the sound of people shuffling to leave, or others trying to find seats. It's all background noise to Dan as he awaits for Phil's reply. 

Phil smirks. He seems like he's always got some kind of smile. "You don't hear about the behind the scenes guys. You hear about the movie, the actors, the cool aspects of it all. My art is the celebrity," he says and then points at Dan. "You authors know that more than anyone. It's your story that's the celebrity. Your characters." 

Dan listens to every word. Phil isn't wrong. He's never thought of himself as anyone important, even though his own books are being talked about around the world. Fan bases are growing to talk about something he created. Maybe he should feel important, maybe he should think about the influence he has and how people are begging to interview him or get a signature, but it's the books he put out there that got him where he is. It's the world he created that really matters. 

Deep in thought, it's easy to forget the two were on a train. They have a place to go today. Dan wants to know where Phil was going. He wants to know the story of his day. As much as he wants to know, he can't bring himself to be nosey. All Dan knows is he wants to be this person's friend, he wants something to happen. 

Nothing special ever happens in a subway. 

The familiar and incoherent voice speaks through the speakers, letting passengers know we were at another stop. Phil listens to it this time, and Dan feels disappointed when he starts to release his seat and exit the train. Before he does leave though, before he starts whatever journey he had today, he looks back at Dan.

"Let's keep meeting like this, Daniel Howell." He smiles and shows off those two front teeth that just gave him a playful and kind charm. Dan can't even help but smile back, saying no words but somehow letting Phil know that he wants to keep meeting too. A friendship is forming. It's forming in a unique and random way. Maybe it's the fact that Phil is another Brit or the way Dan is so awkward he's desperate for someone to talk to, but knowing someone out there can connect with him in only two short conversations makes him feel less alone in this giant city. 

There's a story forming. Dan still doesn't quite have it, though.


	3. Chapter 3

Fate, by definition, is the development of events beyond a person's control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power. People often believe fate determines their soulmates. Because of this, it's easy to think you'd be able to find them in any life, at any time, anywhere. The universe will just push you together. It's quite a beautiful thing, really. 

Fate isn't enough for a story, though. Dan needs a story. 

He needs to get out of bed first, though. Everyday it's harder and that is frustrating to Dan. He's a get-to-work kind of person, not this. For some reason it feels like he really can't change what he's becoming. It's antagonizing, but he still tries. He thinks about how hard he's trying as he finds the energy to get up and do his damn job. 

Finally, after an hour of sitting in bed to get his mind on track, he gets up. He does the bare minimum of his morning routine, skipping the shower and just brushing his teeth to feel fresh. He tells himself he's just eager to get to writing, but in reality, there was no energy to shower. 

Dan grabs his laptop out of the bag it was in yesterday (where it never even came in handy) and moves to the living room. Light shines through the wall length windows of his apartment. He liked natural light and felt as if it helped him stay focused and alert, which is why the couch where he wrote the most was in the light's direction. 

When he opens his computer to an empty word document that has had at least a thousand words be typed and deleted, he throws his head back on the infamous writing couch and rubs his eyes. What a good for nothing little bitch. 

What makes a good story? What makes people fall in love with words on a page and why is Dan so passionate about it? Why does he make a living out of creating worlds that don't exist, instead of living in his? Perhaps it's a coping mechanism. Perhaps his own world is cruel. Dan wrote his first story at the age of ten after the bullying at school had gotten so bad, he really didn't want to live in his world anymore. It wasn't a good story nor was it anything he showed to anyone, but it was his escape. His love for escapism and writing grew more and more as his own life was getting harder to handle. The kids at school were arrogant. His family struggled to provide. He had no friends and no one to go to. What he did have, was a journal. In that journal he would write his version of a perfect universe. He created worlds where it was okay to be himself, where he could love men. That was a big one. That was his biggest insecurity and his most kept secret until moving to New York. 

New York was the closest thing Dan could think of to a perfect world. The city life, the way it's notoriously known for being diverse and full of people who were out and proud, it was all too good to be real. He wanted to see it for himself, and that's exactly what he did. He dropped out of university, and used every penny he had saved up from a minimum wage job to book a flight and pay the first month of rent for a tiny studio with a leak in the ceiling. Once he got there, he wrote. He wrote and wrote and wrote until his hand cramped. He wrote a story so big it could be a book, and then he kept going. He wrote until it could be two books, then three, then four. After that, he rewrote them one by one until they were perfect. His life changed. His world became what he had always wanted it to be like. He was an author in the city of his dreams. 

This is what Dan begins to write about. His fingers click the keys so fast and so determined and he watches the paragraphs become pages. It's nothing anyone will see and it's certainly not a story, but maybe it'll help his head be quiet. It'll help him remember that he is  _ Daniel Howell. _ He wrote books and he can write more. He can create universes that other people can see in their heads as many times as they want. His stories may be the celebrity, it may be all anyone cares about, but no one can forget the fact that Dan made them, and he is influential. 

He is influential. 

Those words repeat in his head over and over. He thinks about what Phil said on the train, how Phil got him to think about how important of a person he really is. They both are. The cool thing about that, about them both being influential people, is that they have agents. They have agents who can help you contact each other and those agents are a Google search away, and Dan takes that Google search for granted. 

Producers aren't hard to contact. Their entire career determines on being contacted. Facebook pages, IMBD's, Dan tries all them all until he stumbles upon a Gregory Bennette, agent to Philip Lester. He was only a phone call away and a famous author trying to get a hold of a producer can get an agent's attention. He carefully dials the number into his phone, looking up and down to make sure every digit is correct. Why is he doing this? He really doesn't know. He's never initiated a friendship like this before. He's never tried. It's impulsive, really. He can let him and Phil go their separate ways, but for some reason it feels too weird that they somehow bumped into each other in completely random circumstances twice and spoke like old friends each time. He thinks about this as a man's deep voice greets him over the phone. 

Dan wants to hang up, he wants to say he called the wrong number, but he doesn't. He speaks with his confident "professional author voice" and says what he wants. He says he's Daniel Howell, he wants to speak to Philip Lester at his earliest convenience, and makes it sound way more important than it is. The poor guy probably thinks Dan has work plans with him, but he's just an awkward guy wanting a friend. 

He gets what he wants, though. 

The phone call is fast and straight to the point, Dan gets his call with Phil. the scary thing is, he has no idea when. He plops his phone onto the glass coffee table, causing an unpleasant thud. He drops his head into his hands and closes his eyes, hoping that when he opens them, everything he did in the last ten minutes will undo themselves. He closes his eyes so tight and for so long, he forgets it's merely noon. He sits, and sits, and sits. Is he waiting? Is he just so ashamed for being impulsive and awkward that he can't open his eyes back up? He sits, and sits, and sits. It's no longer merely noon. He sits.

Eventually, he gets up to go on with his day. He eats lunch, he hates himself for not being to write, he distracts himself, he goes on a walk, he eats dinner, and then he ends up in the same exact place on his couch in front of those tall windows with his phone yet again plopped onto the table. The room had a warm and dim atmosphere, as the sun was beginning to set. 

His phone vibrates against the thick glass surface, making it move around slightly and emits a soft buzzing sound. Dan jerks his head up, seeing an unfamiliar number Brooklyn area code at the top of the screen. Nearly denying it, he remembers his phone call earlier that day. He raises the phone, accepting the call and putting it to his left ear. He hears shuffling, and he's too nervous to start the conversation. Finally, he hears that newly familiar accent that has come into his life so recently. 

"You called my agent." Phil says it with a questionable tone. Dan can't tell if he found creepy, funny, or endearing. 

Dan clears his throat, trying not to hang up right then and there. "I..called your agent," he says, ashamed and clearly wanting to throw his head into a wall. 

A brief moment of awkward silence passes before Phil takes a breath and begins laughing. Dan didn't quite know why Phil is laughing, and doesn't know if it is a bad or good laugh, but all his body knows to do in this moment is to laugh back. It's at least ten awkward seconds of laughter over the phone about Dan's stalkerish tactics to find a long lost acquaintance he'd only met two days ago. 

It is the worst ten seconds of Dan's life. 

Actually, that's an understatement. The next few moments are actually the worst of Dan's life. That's because, after laughing, neither of them really know what to say or do. It's painful. The silence actually feels like getting a tooth pulled for Dan. Phil breaks the silence though, he seems good at that. 

"So," Phil starts, and Dan braces himself. "Why  _ did _ you call my agent?" 

Dan didn't know until that moment that that question is his worst fear. He doesn't know why he called Phil's agent, or at least, he didn't have an answer suitable for a normal person. "Um," Dan chokes on his own words. It's a series of ums, uhs, and hmms. For all Phil knew, Dan was having a stroke. "I d-don't know."

"You don't know why you called my agent?" He asks, and Dan can hear Phil's grin through the phone. 

"Well, I do know, I know why I called," Dan tries to gather his own thoughts while also trying to fathom a human sentence. "I didn't, um," he continues. "I didn't get your number on, on the train."

Phil takes a moment before replying. "Well," he begins. "Now you do," he says in a sing-song tone, almost sarcastic. 

Dan nods his head as if Phil was in the room. He Looks down and purses his lips. He's ruined the conversation, he's ruined his chance, he won't have a friend, there's no point. He had nothing left to lose. "I think you're cool." The words spill out like a mug of coffee falling down, almost uncontrollable and completely inconvenient. 

Phil complies. "I think you are too, Daniel Howell." 

"Please, call me Dan, I stalked you through your agent." Dan laughs to himself. 

Phil laughs at the comment too. "Meet me at Seventh Avenue tomorrow morning, Dan."


	4. Chapter 4

Fuck. 

It's such a simple word, really. It's a one syllable, all purpose phrase that can convey any emotion in any context. It can create emphasis and be used as a noun, verb, or even adjective. In a perfect world, it's really the only word you need.

It's Dan's favorite word, or at least, you'd think it is in this moment since he's been saying it to himself over and over again since he woke up. Due to his lack of being able to get out of bed in the morning, he waited till the very last second to get ready for seeing Phil. After finally forcing himself up, he can't find his fucking socks. His good pants are in the fucking wash. He's a fucking mess. Fuck this, fuck that, fuck. See? All purpose phrase.

Putting on a decent looking outfit while also brushing his teeth, trying to smell good, fitting some kind of breakfast in, answering emails from his creative team, and finding his "fucking" socks is the most trivial multitasking Dan has ever done.

He doesn't really know why he's rushing. He should know, but when he woke up this morning, he didn't want to move. He didn't want to see anyone or do anything other than just lie there for days. He wanted to cancel on Phil, because the thought of moving his body even just a bit felt like an impossible thing to ask out of him. That's not like Dan at all, or at least not how he was. He gets himself out, he does things, he pushes limits and looks for inspiration all around him, but now, he's having trouble honoring plans with Phil that should be exciting for him. He tries to ignore those thoughts, though. He resists the urge to cancel and get back in bed, and today he's successful.

Swinging his laptop bag over his shoulder and taking one last look in his mirror, he finally leaves his apartment. He keeps the slightly heavy bag from swinging as he rushes down the stairs leading to the exit, and then finally reaches the outside world to go meet his fate at the Seventh Avenue metro. The cool breeze wisps through his hair and carries the faint smell of a hot dog stand from around the corner. He hears the fabric of his bag brush against his black jeans as he walks quickly, hoping that Phil isn't the kind of guy that gets to places early. Taking his phone out to ask Phil's whereabouts, he sees a missed message from two minutes ago simply saying "by the maps." It's a small, insignificant text, but it gets Dan's heart beating and his feet moving faster. He sends a quick answer and anticipates the entrance to the metro, growing larger and larger as he speed walks towards it.

When he descends down those familiar concrete stairs, the sounds of unseen Brooklyn fill Dan's ears and he looks closer than usual at the people around him to spot Phil. At the end of the large subway maps that divide the station in half, Phil stands exactly where he promised with tight dark jeans and a satin blue bomber jacket that catches Dan's eye. He walks towards him, going over in his head what he'll say to greet him. Phil looks up once Dan gets close enough, and puts on a smile so warm and inviting that Dan can't help but give one back.

"How do you feel about lunch in the city?" Phil smirks, awaiting for an answer.

Dan agrees almost instantly with a happy nod, but as they wait for the train, the realization of how awkward it could be sits in. He's never spent more than a train ride with this guy, and now who knows how long they'd hang out. The thoughts of regret and lack of energy creep back into his head, and he tries to swallow them back down as much as he can.  _ Do not make an excuse to leave _ . He thinks it to himself over and over, trying his best to look content as Phil looks at him, and then begins walking to signal their subway was here. There's no going back.

The subway ride is much less chatty than last time, due to the fact that they could only get a spot sharing a pole with two strangers. The silence is a reasonable one, but also an awkward one. Dan and Phil barely know each other and aren't comfortable in just each others' company yet, so the occasional eye contact and constant looking at the floor is painful for Dan. Maybe Phil was fine, Dan already admired him for his confidence, but an anxiety riddled brain like his can barely handle what's going on. He tries his best to focus on his feet, standing as still as possible to avoid possibly stumbling in front of someone he rather wants to impress for some odd reason. The subway comes to a stop accompanied by a muffled voice, and Phil looks at Dan as if to say "let's go." They make their way outside the busy train and into a much less cramped but just as crowded subway station.

Dan wants to speak, he wants to ask him questions about God knows what, he wants to initiate some kind of conversation, but he holds back. Instead he walks alongside Phil, twiddling his fingers and feeling the shyest he has in years.

"There's this," Phil begins, squinting one eye and looking upward in an attempt to think of his next few words. "Place down on 43rd with the best macaroni in the world and they serve breakfast all day." He looks at Dan with a smile, and Dan is listening intently. "Good vibes, very casual." He nods to himself.

Dan is looking at him, watching what he says and starts to feel a sense of excitement for what Phil has planned. It's casual, no pressure, and no awkward silence because you can just eat if you have nothing to say.

They continue to walk together, making small talk about their mornings and little check ups. It's as if on the train they had subconsciously agreed not to say too much until they were sat down for lunch. Dan plays out different conversations he could initiate, imagining the diner and the food they order. He imagines them laughing about stupid things and becoming proper friends.

They ascend out of the subway station and into the busy, loud, dirty, and chaotic world of the city. Wind whistles through the air and it rains so lightly that you can only feel a few drops here and there. They walk alongside each other, Phil putting his hands into his jacket and Dan pulling his long black coat closer to him. Phil leads the way through the crowded sidewalks and bustling crowds until they stop at a door connected to a line of other buildings. He opens the door, setting off a bell to ring, and gestures to let Dan enter first. The diner is warmly lit and holds a comfortable temperature in contrast with the gray and cold atmosphere outside.

Going out to eat with a friend is just about the most casual thing Dan has done in over a year. The closest person to him is his agent, who he really doesn't want to speak to unless necessary. The only real company Dan gets is the kind he finds in the abundance of strangers on a crowded sidewalk. Thinking about where they're going, what their story is, it seemed enough for him. As Phil gets menus and a booth to sit in for them though, he knows that it's never been enough.

They sit across from each other with a nervous smile on both of their faces. The diner has quiet music in the background and the soft drizzling rain hits softly against the window next to them. Phil then starts the conversation. Phil always starts the conversation.

"I thought you'd be much chattier than this," Phil admits. He says it in a nice and teasing way, but Dan can't help but feel insecure. Phil opens the menu in front of him while awaiting a response.

Dan swallows, trying to come up with something witty within a second. "This is a mask. Just wait till we're close." He immediately regrets revealing the fact that he sees the two of them becoming close, but tries his best to hold a smirk to seem confident.

Phil breaks his fixation off the all day breakfast choices and looks up at Dan, chuckling. "Is that what you say to all the guys you stalk through their agents?"

The two break out into laughter, Dan trying his best not to overdo it. He's not comfortable enough to show his authentic obnoxious laugh, and he's desperate to make a good impression. He can't tell if Phil is doing the same, as his laugh is quiet but very wheezy. It's a happy and refreshing sound nonetheless. Their first time joking around with each other is short winded and cut off from the sound of a waitress' voice asking if the two are ready to order.

As they order, Dan feels less anxious and a lot more excited about what's to come from this last minute planned lunch. Maybe he doesn't quite regret the impulsive decision of reaching out, and maybe he's glad he got out of bed this morning.

"Tell me about yourself," Phil begins. It's the question Dan dreads and never knows how to answer. He has a story, everyone does, but it's almost impossible for him to tell his own. He smiles out of shyness and Phil clarifies himself. "When did you move here, why, are you writing new books," Phil lists questions in a lazy tone while swaying his head side to side. "What's your favorite food, do you have a girlfriend, blah blah." He looks at Dan from across the table as if to ask him if that helped at all.

Dan never knows how to answer questions about himself. He either says too little or too much and he hated that answering a simple question was so abstract for his brain. "Um," He begins, not knowing where to go from there. "I'm not writing any new books. Well, I am, once I figure out a plot, but like, as of right now, nothing is really written. I guess. I'm really just desperate for a project. Writing sucks. It doesn't, but it does." Dan wrestles with his mind in front of his friend, who seems to be entertained. "And," Dan starts a new thought. This is where the say-too-much part of his brain takes over. "No girlfriend. No anything, actually. I don't-" he pauses abruptly. "Women aren't my type."

Phil looks taken aback and intrigued at the same time. "There's something we can bond over, aside from the fact that we are both Brits that decided to come to New York of all places."

This comment makes Dan's head shoot back up and his eyes avert to Phil's. It's unexpected, but it's nice. It makes him feel less like a blabbermouth, not that anyone should ever feel that way about casually disclosing their sexuality. He smiles and nods, feeling his cheeks blush just a tiny bit. "The gay part or the single part?" Dan blurts it out, hoping he didn't just feel false relief.

Phil smirks. "Both."

For some reason, Phil starts to look different. He looks equal to Dan, he looks, well, within reach. It's a weird way to describe someone, but Dan's brain is notorious for that kind of thing.

The story between these two people is unfolding. It's unfolding in a tiny New York City diner. It's unfolding over all day breakfast. For the first time, though, Dan might be able to see it. 


End file.
